


"Is He Come Home Yet?"

by Crowgirl



Series: On the Strength of the Evidence [42]
Category: Grantchester (TV)
Genre: Background Relationships, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, M/M, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-09-20
Packaged: 2018-12-31 18:17:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12138309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowgirl/pseuds/Crowgirl
Summary: Two kitchens; two years.





	1. Chapter 1

For a minute, Geordie’s absolutely sure that seventy-two hours on the hop -- with little more than a nap snatched in the train to Scarborough and one on the way back -- has caught up with him all at once, and he’s started hallucinating. Hallucinations seems the only reasonable explanation for Sidney to be sitting at Geordie’s kitchen table, with the lamp that’s usually on the windowsill pulled close at his elbow, a book flat on the table in front of him and the fingers of one hand dug deep into his hair as he mutters to himself over something on the page in front of him.

Geordie tries to ask the obvious question; his voice fails him and he has to clear his throat before trying again. Sidney looks up immediately and tries to stand but knocks into the table instead, scraping it forward over the floor. He and Geordie grab for it at the same moment, their hands on opposite sides, and for a minute when their eyes meet, Geordie could swear they share the same thought: _please God don’t let the kids wake up._

Sidney sinks back into his chair with an apologetic smile. ‘Sorry.’ His voice isn’t a whisper, but it’s softer and certainly pleasanter than any sound Geordie has heard in the last several hours. Sidney’s voice is something of a treat to listen to under any circumstances and now---

Geordie shakes his head hard to clear thoughts that can’t be of use to anyone and tries again. ‘What are you doing here?’

Sidney leans over on one hip and fumbles in his pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper. ‘Cathy called the vicarage -- she was looking for Mrs M, but she’s visiting her god-daughter and--’

‘Sidney.’ Geordie drops his hat on the table, drops himself into the other chair, and pinches at his nose. ‘What. Are you. Doing. Here.’

‘Yes. Sorry.’ Sidney unfolds the paper and squints at it, then slides it across the table to Geordie. ‘Someone named -- Caroline? Is ill and called for Cathy to go down.’

‘Did she take the girls with her?’ Geordie puts his hand over the paper. Caro rarely gets sick; if she is, and sick enough to call for Cathy, it must be something serious. He should read the note immediately and see what the next thing he has to do is. The only problem is if the next thing involves getting back on his feet, he’s fairly sure he won’t be able to do it.

‘Just Davie. I’m only here as back-up, really -- Ruth from next door came in to get the girls their supper and then Esme got them all to bed. There hasn’t been a peep out of any of them; I’ve just been sitting here reading.’ Sidney closes his book and offers another apologetic smile. ‘But Ruth had to go out after dinner and her husband works nights so there was no-one else to stay--’

‘It’s fine, it’s fine--’ Geordie looks down at the sheet of paper. He can see the neat, even lines of Cathy’s script but he can’t make his eyes focus on them. ‘Ah, hell.’ He buries his face in his hands for a minute, pressing hard at his eyes as if making them hurt will make them work any better.

‘You’ve been gone the better part of this week,’ Sidney says, almost cautiously.

Geordie lets out a sigh that even to him sounds more like a groan and starts wriggling out of his coat without getting up. ‘You noticed.’

‘I missed you trying to cheat at backgammon.’

Geordie snorts, shrugging his coat away over the back of his chair. ‘Like that backhand throw you’ve got isn’t a cheat.’ He’s immediately aware that the words should not have been said; they give away too much and he’s too tired to know what to do to catch them back. He looks up at Sidney cautiously but there’s nothing in Sidney’s expression to indicate he’s noticed anything out of the ordinary. 

Christ, this isn’t fair. Geordie had been prepared for a dark house, a bit of cold left in the icebox or a pot of soup on the hob and the teapot left ready but this -- Sidney sitting in his kitchen, wearing a jumper that looks like it’s been through the wars, the lamp beside him casting his hair into gold and amber shadow, his hands loose and open on the table, his entire body relaxed in one of the old wooden chairs, is not something he had been ready for. He takes a deep breath and hopes his voice sounds steady when he speaks. ‘You should get back home -- get some sleep.’

Sidney looks at him for a long minute. ‘Do you know what time it is?’

‘Past eleven?’ Geordie hazards. There’s a clock behind him on the shelf but even if he twisted around, he doubts he’d be able to make sense of the face.

‘Past three.’

‘Ah, Christ, Sidney, you didn’t have to--’

‘Of course I did.’ Sidney stands up. ‘What was I going to do -- leave the girls on their own? Let me put the kettle on for you -- make you some tea before I go.’


	2. Chapter 2

Geordie pauses in the kitchen doorway to watch Sidney reading. The supper dishes are cleared away and the kettle is steaming gently, the teapot with its lid off on a towel beside the range. Sidney has his book pinned open with his elbow, one hand flattening the page, the other propping up his head. His hair is already starting to stand out slightly, a sure sign that he’s been reading for awhile and tangling his fingers through his hair while he does it. 

Geordie moves to the range and makes up the tea, pulls down two of the thick blue-striped ‘workhouse pot’ mugs that Caro keeps the lodge stocked with -- for durability, she says, although he suspects it’s also because her mother finds them horrifying -- and puts in milk, a tiny bit of sugar in his own, then fills them both with tea. 

Sidney looks up when Geordie slides the mug in front of him and smiles. ‘Everyone asleep?’

Geordie shrugs. ‘I can’t speak for Cath and Caro.’

Sidney blushes slightly and picks up his tea. ‘Well, no, I didn’t really mean them.’

‘Everyone else is, yes. Even Dickens.’

‘In with Ivy?’

‘Of course.’ 

Sidney shakes his head. ‘Maybe I should just leave him with you year ‘round.’

‘Don’t you dare,’ Geordie says, only half-joking. Sidney laughs and closes his book, sliding it aside and reaching across the table to touch Geordie’s free hand. Geordie turns his hand over, slipping his fingers over Sidney’s so they’re palm to palm and the tips of his fingers rest in the hollow of Sidney’s wrist. The color over Sidney’s cheekbones deepens a little and Geordie can feel him tense very slightly, but he smiles again and rubs his thumb along the outside edge of Geordie’s palm.

‘Thanks for making the tea,’ Sidney says, tipping his mug slightly before taking a sip. 

‘Someone’s got to make sure you don’t starve to death in the middle of--’ Geordie cranes his head to make out the title. ‘-- _Commentary on the Epistle to the Romans_? Good grief.’

‘I’ve got to keep up with Leonard somehow.’

‘What about a walk instead?’ Geordie runs his forefinger along the soft underside of Sidney’s wrist. He can feel Sidney relax under his hand; it’s still a little marvellous to him that he gets to do this -- that Sidney _wants_ him to do this. Geordie hasn’t quite gotten over the feeling that every move should be that little bit tentative in case Sidney needs the space to refuse. So far, Sidney never has.

Sidney glances at the kitchen window. ‘Full moon?’

Geordie shrugs. ‘Might be.’ He has absolutely no idea, but he knows where the torches are and the path along the near side of the dunes is clear and flat. 

‘You’ll be cold when we get back,’ Sidney says, looking back at him, the corner of his mouth turning up slightly. 

‘You’ll just have to find a way to warm me up.’

* * *

‘Christ, Geordie--’

‘Well, I didn’t know a fog was going to come up, did I!’

‘Come on, get this lot off.’ Sidney plucks at the sleeve of Geordie’s jumper, grimacing when it squishes between his fingers.

‘I can just run a bath--’ Geordie ruins his own point by shivering as he pulls the wet wool over his head.

Sidney rolls his eyes, takes the jumper, and taps at Geordie’s belt buckle. ‘Like hell.’

‘Language, vicar!’

‘Don’t push your luck. Get in.’ Sidney holds the blankets up just long enough for Geordie to slide under them, then bundles him up as though Geordie were incapable of doing it himself. 

‘This wasn’t what I had in mind,’ Geordie offers as he watches Sidney move around the room, undressing himself more leisurely than he had insisted Geordie do but faster than Geordie had planned to do it himself.

‘You worry about the circulation in your extremities,’ Sidney says, wrapping himself in his worn woollen robe and gathering up Geordie’s jumper and trousers. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’ 

Geordie lets himself flop back on the pillow and glares at the ceiling. ‘Circulation in me extremities -- I should be so bloody lucky.’ He can hear the distant sound of water running in the bathroom, then a door closing, then nothing. _Ah, well._ Perhaps he had lost the opportunity to slip Sidney’s clothes off but it’s enough -- more than he had hoped to get, really -- to be in the bed Sidney will be coming back to and that already smells of Sidney’s skin and sweat and, more faintly, the thicker, heavier scent they leave together. Geordie closes his eyes and lets himself drift; that fog really _had_ been icy. He can still feel it in his fingers and he twists on his side, wrapping his hands in a fold of blanket. 

‘Asleep already?’ The door opens and the light goes off at almost the same moment before Geordie can rouse himself to do more than mumble. Sidney laughs quietly and the blankets over Geordie’s feet become slightly heavier before the blankets lift and Sidney is slipping in beside him and pushing something down to the bottom of the bed. Geordie tries to ask what it is, but he must be sleepier than he thought because he can’t put the words in the right order before he realises the thing Sidney’s pushing up against his ankles is a hot water bottle.

Geordie aims to say _thank you_ but what comes out is more of an inarticulate hum and Sidney laughs again and slides against Geordie, wrapping one arm under his shoulders, the other over his abdomen so Geordie is entirely surrounded in warmth and the familiar solidity of Sidney. Sidney lets out a long breath, and murmurs something Geordie doesn’t catch before pressing his lips to Geordie’s forehead. Geordie sighs and rubs his cheek against Sidney’s shoulder, pressing himself as close as he can get before letting himself slip asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from _[Midsummer Night's Dream](http://www.bartleby.com/70/1842.html)_.
> 
> The original "prompt," so to speak, is [this photo](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/687221224360456506/).
> 
>  _[The Commentary on the Epistle to the Romans](https://www.amazon.com/Epistle-Romans-Karl-Barth/dp/0195002946/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8)_ , by Karl Barth, originally published in 1918.
> 
> Thanks as always to the best of all betas, [elizajane](http://archiveofourown.org/users/elizajane) and [the Lady Kivrin.](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kivrin)


End file.
